A False Queen
by alycya
Summary: Not Tudor show fanfiction but it is about that reign- there was no history catergory so here it is.  A woman is forced to make a decision that will change her country forever.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is just a random idea I had in my head before I went off to work, I wrote it in about fifteen minutes, enjoy!**

The woman looked at the dying girl in front of her, the young child who wasn't much younger then herself; the young child she was being requested to replace with out the public's knowledge. She couldn't help but stare at the girl's pale face, stare at the girl who was supposed to be the savior of the country.

She understood what the girl's advisors were asking her, and she knew why- she just didn't know how comfortable she felt stepping into her shoes so suddenly. The sick girl was the last in line of her family and the country had been plagued by the death of five monarchs in eleven years, it's not a surprise the country was counting on this girl to save them. But no one imagined that she would fall sick so soon after her coronation. This girl has no heir, she has no siblings left alive and her siblings never had children, she only had a vindictive cousin ready to steal the throne from her. The country has changed religions and beliefs so often that the girl's advisors panicked when she fell ill, there is no doubt in the woman's mind that, because the girl has no heir, when she dies there would be a revolution…if her advisors didn't take certain measures, certain measures involving her.

It broke the woman's heart to see the beloved twenty-nine year old queen's life shriveling away right in front of her; it seems the girl's life would never be easy, not even in death. She sighed and looked at the two older men in the room with her, the two men who had asked the unthinkable of her. The men stood solemnly in the corner with defeated expressions on their faces, the woman knew the fate of the country rested in her hands and in her final decision. She sent one more grim look to the unconscious girl lying on the bed.

The girl started coughing and her body started to shake uncontrollably. The woman let out a single tear when the girl's body stopped moving.

She looked at the men, who had mirrored expressions of pain, sadness, and hopelessness. She gave a deep breath before making up her mind and ultimately deciding the fate of her country.

"I'll do it." Thirty-one year old Jane Hopsan looked at the still body, at the face that so closely resembled hers, but then that is why they chose her in the first place. She could have easily been that girl, but she was the lucky one, the real privileged one- she was lucky enough to grow up in a loving household with a caring family, a normal life; while this young girl did not have a clue what true normality was, what even love was. On March 23, 1563 Elizabeth I of England died of illness, but her reign continued through a brave young woman who was given the glory, but not the credit. A great princess died that day and a brave woman stepped up.

A/N: Queen Elizabeth really did fall very ill in 1563 (I believe) but I could not find the exact date so I thought of something relatively reasonable. I hope you like it, though it is nothing special- just a random idea in my head I wanted to write. Feel free to leave comments, but I don't really want flamers I take criticism (any kind, sad I know -_-) badly, so please be nice


	2. Chapter 2 Prequel

She stared at the reflection in the mirror nervously, playing with the pendent which hung around her neck. Everything still held a surreal quality to her; she often relapsed to her days in the Tower, this was one of those days. She loathed that tower, and she loathed her sister for putting her there. It was that tower where her mother spent her last days, and where she had feared she would as well. But people had plans for her, plans she didn't want to be a part of, even plans she did not know about…but that still didn't stop her sister from arresting her on grounds of suspicion. And it's the same tower where she waits, on the suggestion of her advisor; and although she is no longer a prisoner, and although she can feel her mother with her, she is more scared now then any time in her past. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer; this was never the person she wanted to be, not even the person she should be, but somehow it happened.

She had been called many things in her young life: daughter, heir, bastard, lady, princess. But queen, never. She never thought that it would all come down to her, especially if her family had anything to say about it. Her father paid no attention to her and rarely acknowledged her existence; as far as he was concerned she resembled her mother too much. Her younger brother started out liking her, but when she did not turn her back on her older sister as he had wished he changed; shortly before he died he threw her out of the line of succession in favor of a girl even younger then herself. And then there was her sister, the very one who threw her in the Tower, and then welcomed her home with opened arms; the very one who rejoiced at her new title of Bastard when she was two, then hugged and sang to her in later years. She knew why her sister disliked her, but it didn't stop the pain of being punished for the mistakes of her mother and the selfishness of her father. But still, although they were never a family to her, never welcomed her or gave her a place, she was sad when they each died.

She quickly wiped away the tear that started to roll down her cheek and abruptly stood up. She knew she needed to stop; whether she wanted it or not it was now her day, no one could make her feel less important and no one could tell her what to do or not to do anymore. An ironic smile crossed her face; after twenty-five years of playing someone else's game, of being quiet and obedient, of hiding silently in the shadows, she now made the decisions, she now created the game.

"Your highness," she looked up at her maid who had just entered her champers, "everything is ready. It's time for the procession." Her procession, she thought. Now is as good a time as any and she knew she needed to stop postponing it, her country needed a monarch. She looked at her extravagant coronation dress, and then looked at herself in the mirror; the two parts didn't seem to match up earlier, but now looked like it was meant to be. This was now her time, her chance to prove herself to every person in her life who doubted her; it's time to prove herself to England.


	3. Chapter 3

"I refuse to serve under a false queen, _your majesty_." Those words cut through her very soul, and the hatred laced at the end brought tears to her eyes. She hated the direction her life had taken; and she blamed it all on the sickly little girl.

"Thomas ple-" She could not even get her one sentence out before he cut her off. She hated herself at that moment more than ever before.

"Do not 'Thomas' me, you wretched liar. You do not deserve to wear that crown on your head; you do not even have an ounce of royal blood in you. You are only here per lucky circumstance on your part, only here because _she_ trusted your father. You're pathetic, hiding behind your crown and leading this country into a snarled lie."

He seemed to know exactly what to say to hit home for her; each sentence was like a new blade cutting through her. But he couldn't possibly know what he was saying, he was not there when _she_ died, he was not there to see _her_ face. No, he knew nothing at all; who was he to yell at her and throw those invalid accusations at her.

"Do you think I chose this? Pre-planned the death of our new queen, or just murdered her on a whim? Thomas Kingsly, you know nothing of what happened and of the burden I now carry. Has it occurred to you that after she died, since she died heirless, there would be a civil war to put every person and their mother onto this thrown? I bet not." She was happy to yell, to just lose control of herself if nothing more than a moment; she was so tired of trying to be the person she was not, trying to be _her_. She was relieved that she was crying, despite knowing she should be appalled. "Or do you not care of the bloodshed that it would cause? As far as the public knows _she_ is still alive, and it gives them hope and solace. How could you imagine taking it away from them?"

He tried to repress the scoff that was in response to her attempt at justification. "And what about that man you're so found of, that Dudley fellow? What happens if you have children?"

She knew the answer to that; she had discussed it with the council, her council now. She hated what she knew had to happen, she longed for a family and she longed to marry Robert. "I won't. It is that simple Thomas, I will not marry and I will not have children, and I will die of natural causes when I am old so that by then the next in line will be prepared. Did you not remember our dear friend had promised she would never marry? Not after the cruel life her father led."

"It is hardly that simple Jane." She stiffened at that name.

"Don't call me that. I am not that person anymore."

"Well I cannot live under your lying hand. I request to leave this court." He knew malice laced his voice, and he knew how much that request hurt his former friend; but he no longer cared. She let out a sigh in defeat.

"Well, if that is how you feel," she gave a deep breath in an attempt to regain her composure; her voice growing cold and impersonal. She feared it would eventually lead to this. "Thomas Kingsly, you are to be transferred to France as an ambassador for England per your Queen's request. You are to leave immediately and stay there for the duration of your life."

"Very well." He went to leave when her voice stopped him.

"And just remember Thomas, you are there under the request of Queen Elizabeth not your former friend Jane Hopsan, and you are to conduct yourself as such. Good bye."

After he left the room she collapsed on the floor and cried. She cried for her friend leaving, for her new responsibilities, for her love now lost; but she mostly cried for the sudden death of dear Elizabeth who sparked this all.


End file.
